


tangled up in you (you and i collide)

by trustingno1



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustingno1/pseuds/trustingno1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Have a good time?" Louis mumbles into his pillow, deadpan, as Harry strips down to his boxers behind him.</p><p>"Mmnn," Harry hums, climbing into the bed and fitting himself around Louis, skin a little tacky where his sweat hasn't completely dried. He kisses the back of Louis' neck, soft and lazy. "Won't be able to walk right for a week."</p><p> </p><p>(For a kink meme <a href="http://1dkinkmeme.livejournal.com/8532.html?thread=10808404#t10808404">prompt</a>; off-screen Harry/OMC)</p>
            </blockquote>





	tangled up in you (you and i collide)

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt** : Everyone knows that Harry has always had a crush on Louis and while Louis adores him, he gentley no-ed him years ago. And that’s fine, most of the time. Except on tour where Harry has to spend every waking moment around him. When it gets too much Harry deals by bringing a fit pretty boy back to the hotel and exhausting himself. And then spends the night cuddled up in Louis’ bed. It almost works. Louis is getting frustrated. 
> 
> (I admit, I took some liberties with the prompt).

Louis stirs a little when the light from the hallway spills into his hotel room, even with his back to the door.

"Time is it?" he asks, voice thick.

"Almost two," Harry whispers, dropping his key card onto the dresser.

"Have a good time?" Louis mumbles into his pillow, deadpan, as Harry strips down to his boxers behind him (doesn't need to roll over to know that's what Harry's doing, because he _knows_ this and he knows _Harry_ and that's _always_ what Harry does).

"Mmnn," Harry hums, climbing into the bed and fitting himself around Louis, skin a little tacky where his sweat hasn't completely dried. He kisses the back of Louis' neck, soft and lazy. "Won't be able to walk right for a week."

Louis snorts. "Charming."

Harry's laughing a little, he can tell. "Night, Lou," he says, softly, fingertips trailing up and down Louis' forearm.

"Night, Haz."

And, OK. This is just what they _do_. It _works_ for them.

 

 

(Mostly).

 

*    *    *

 

Like, OK. Over breakfast the next morning (over _breakfast_ , have some _manners_ , Harold), Harry's listening to Liam, half-yawning, kind of like he's trying to unpop his ears, and it takes Louis a second (and he doubts anyone else even notices), but all of a sudden (and it hits him so hard he feels winded), Louis' picturing Harry, on his knees, sucking cock until his jaw aches, eyes glassy and wide and for _fuck's sake_ , he just wants to drink his tea in _peace_.

 

*    *    *

 

Harry opens the door, and Louis stirs, bleary-eyed and confused.

"You're early," Louis mumbles.

"Yeah," Harry says, like he's mulling it over. "So was he."

And Louis laughs into his pillow for a moment, because he's never pretended not to be petty. "Was he fit, at least?" he asks, rolling over as Harry climbs into bed.

"He, um. Had nice eyes," Harry allows, and Louis laughs again.

"Ouch." Louis reaches out and touches Harry's stomach, which is so, ridiculously, not how this is meant to go. "Maybe the _excitement_ of being with a popstar was too much for him."

Harry's smiling, head close to Louis' on their pillows. "I can see how boybands would do it for hipsters," he pretends to agree, and, with that, Louis knows _exactly_ what sort of skinny-jeaned, big-quiffed boys Harry's bringing back to his hotel room.

"Hipsters, hey," Louis murmurs, Harry's stomach muscles jumping under his fingertips, "That's what does it for you?"

Harry smiles, and buries his head in the pillow for a moment (looks so, impossibly young). "Something like that," he draws out, and Louis -

Louis is _fucked_.

*    *    *

 

They're getting ready for an interview, and - something he didn't notice in the dark last night - Harry has a particularly noticeable _hickey_ in the curve of his neck, and he'd give _any_ of the lads shit about that, so when Harry sits down to have his makeup done, and the collar of his shirt pulls just so -

"Have fun covering that up," Louis says, pressing down hard on the mark, and Harry makes a tiny noise and presses _up_ into Louis' thumb, instead of jerking away and calling him a fucker, and he's staring at Harry in the mirror, and Harry's staring at him, his cheeks flushing just slightly and - before he can stop to think about it - Louis presses down again, and Harry's eyelids flutter closed.

So. Something else he's learnt. Harry likes to suck cock, and Harry likes it to hurt a little. Cool.

 

 

*    *    *

 

Harry's early tonight, again, too early, and Louis rolls onto his back and squints at him in the darkness, Harry's movements angry and jerky.

"You right?" Louis finally asks, as Harry all but rips the covers off him as he climbs into bed.

"He took his phone out," Harry says, clipped (and here's where Liam would sigh, all troubled and caring and shit, about how shagging random boys is really _risky_ , Harry, but Louis' not Liam). "Lou, he took his phone out, and if I hadn't looked up-" and holy fuck, hold up, because he's picturing Harry, again, lips red and cheeks hollowed, head bobbing, glancing up from under his eyelashes-

And, yeah, maybe there's something to be said about being _careful_ , but they have enough people in their lives lecturing them, so, "I'll kill him," Louis mumbles, instead. "I will. Jus' ... in the morning."

Harry leans into him, just to smile against Louis' bare shoulder, lips warm and soft.

"You're a good mate," he teases, gently, and when Louis rolls back onto his side, Harry hooks his chin over Louis' shoulder, breath tickling his ear until Louis squirms away, smiling.

"And you've got shit taste in boys," Louis says.

There's the slightest of pauses, and Harry's not touching him anywhere anymore when he says, only, voice all funny, "I know," and, _fuck_ , that's not what he _meant_ -

(he's back there, for just a moment, on his _X-Factor_ bunk; sixteen-year-old Harry holds his gaze and slowly leans in, and Louis turns his head slightly at the last second.

"You're aces at gay chicken," he mutters, giving Harry an out ( _take it_ , he wills him, silently, _take it_ ), and Harry blinks a couple of times, before smiling crookedly.

"You know it," he says, shifting around a bit until he's sitting next to Louis, knees pressed together.

"You're my _favourite_ ," Louis says, impulsively, like it's a secret, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders, and Harry smiles really widely, in that way that makes his eyes all crinkly, and presses his forehead to Louis' temple).

So Louis' going to fall back asleep or suffocate himself on his pillow or _something_ that means he doesn't have to lie here with Harry, all taught and tense behind him, but his mouth's moving faster than his brain, and -

"You can," Louis says. "You know. If you want to."

"What?" Harry asks, after a beat.

And Louis' not turning around for this. Without opening his eyes, he says, casually, off-hand, "Take care of yourself. Finish up. Have a bit of a wank."

"Um," Harry says. "I-"

"I can _smell_ how," Louis waves his hand, "sexually frustrated you are. It's seriously cutting into my beauty sleep."

There's a long pause, then.

"Yeah?" Harry finally asks.

"Yeah," Louis agrees.

This is such a bad idea

(terrible and awful and wonderful, like pretty much every decision Louis makes in the early hours of the morning; he knows it and Harry knows it, and one of them should probably stop it before-)

but judging by the noise Harry makes, he's just shoved his hand down his pants, which is kind of the opposite of putting a stop to it, so, OK. This is happening.

(He's so not turning around).

The mattress dips beneath Harry as he pushes his boxers down and Louis can _hear_ it when his hand starts moving, slowly, hesitantly, and he does _something_ , because he sucks in a noisy breath through his nose and Louis' toes are curling.

It's quick and quiet, Harry's breathing heavy and loud in the late-night quiet of their room, hand moving over himself harder and faster, and when he comes, he lets out a shaky sigh, then takes a couple of deep breaths.

Louis reaches out and grabs the tissue box on the bedside table, tossing it over his shoulder, blindly.

"Ow," Harry mumbles.

"Don't use the sheets," Louis warns, pretty normally, which - go him.

"Can you imagine how much that'd go for on eBay?" Harry asks, grabbing a few tissues.

"Animal," Louis sniffs, and Harry's laughter has the bed shaking again.

Louis' so hard he could _cry_.

 

*    *    *

 

Louis' quite happy to pretend that never happened, thank you very much, and Harry doesn't seem fazed at all, which is ace, and everything's busy and normal until their next show:

It's something they've done a hundred, thousand, times before; Harry balances the end of this mic on his thigh and moves his hand up and down it, slowly, and Niall laughs like he's never seen anything like it before (and they both look up at Louis, expectantly, but he's picturing Harry's hand (so big, so fucking big) stroking himself like that, looking up at Louis with a totally different expression, no hint of a smile, so he just looks out at the crowd, stony-faced and ignores them.

He hates _everything_ ).

 

*    *    *

 

Harry jerks his chin at Louis after _One Thing_ , like he always does before he leans in, so Louis pulls out his ear piece and meets him halfway.

"Hey," Harry says, lips brushing the shell of Louis' ear, breath hot, "Gotta wee. Stall for me?"

He can't help his eye roll, he honestly can't, because Harry grabbing his junk would send the same message, without _whispering in Louis' ear_. "For fuck's sake," he mutters, and he knows Harry sees it (can't hear it, not over this noise), and Harry looks a little hurt for a moment, so Louis grits his teeth and waves at him. "Go," he mouths, trying to smile, and Harry smiles back, a little unsurely.

*    *    *

 

He tosses and turns that night, and Harry doesn't sneak into his room, which, at about midnight, seemed rather excellent, seemed like the best way to _not_ be thinking about Harry's lips and hands, but, sometime around three, got him wondering where Harry _was_ (or, if he's more honest with himself, wondering who Harry's _with_ , and what's so bloody special about this one).

So he feels quite shit in the morning, flinging himself into the van first, a little dramatically.

"Sleep well, then?" Zayn says, dryly, taking in the bags under his eyes, as he climbs into the seat behind Louis.

"Fuck off," Louis says, which probably isn't his best work.

"You OK, Lou?" Liam asks, more genuinely, from beside Zayn, leaning forward when he's buckled his seatbelt.

"Fantastic," Louis replies, short and snappy, turning to stare out his window (which probably isn't fair, because Liam's just being nice, but Liam knows - like they all do - that it's not personal, not when you're around each other _this_ much).

Harry spreads out in the seat next to Louis, knee nudging Louis', which he wouldn't even _notice_ , ordinarily, but nothing is ordinary anymore.

"Morning," he mumbles, and Louis turns to look at him.

"Get lost last night?" he asks, quietly, a little too icily, because Harry hasn't actually done anything _wrong_ , like, there's no rule that he has to fuck and chuck and end the night in Louis' bed, but that's what they _do_ , and the corners of Harry's mouth turn down in confusion. "Sorry," he mutters, belatedly, half-heartedly, and Harry nods.

They have one last interview in Columbus, just one interview to get through, then they're on the bus and headed to - Nashville, maybe? And the bus is good. The bus is _better_ than good.

(Mostly, a tiny, traitorous voice in his head points out, because Harry won't be out getting laid).

 

*    *    *

 

Except, the thing is - because it's only the five of them, Harry's walking around shirtless, which stopped being unusual years ago, but he's been working out lately, or something, and it's so fucking distracting that Liam kicks his butt, 8-0, on FIFA and Louis can only toss the controller to Zayn with a scowl.

 

*    *    *

"I've got a present for you," Harry says, a little proudly, dropping onto the couch beside Louis, backstage at Bridgestone Arena. He holds out a small, lumpy gift. "Wrapped it m'self," he adds, smile a little rueful, and Louis smiles back, helplessly (yeah, he's seen that video; what of it?), and they're both laughing at sixteen-year-old Harry, but it's gentle and fond.

"Nice work," he says, before ripping the paper off to reveal an - an eye mask? He looks up at  Harry, curiously.

"I just thought - you know. It might stop me waking you up," Harry shrugs, and it's a peace offering, Louis knows, which is ridiculous, because Harry has nothing to apologize _for_ , so he drops his gaze to the mask because this stupid, beautiful _boy_ -

"Is this a panda?" he asks, looking at it properly, and Harry's grinning now.

"Maybe."

"You're such an idiot," Louis huffs, affectionately, shifting until he's pressed against Harry's side. "I'm not wearing it," he adds, toying with the elastic, and maybe he's not the same kid who wore onesies and animal beanies in public anymore, but he'll so wear a panda eye mask, and Harry knows it.

*    *    *

 

It's one of _those_ days, one of those days with interviews and soundcheck and they're about to hit three states in three days, so they're all buzzing, after the show, amped up on adrenaline and Red Bull, and Liam heads down to the gym to blow off steam ("It's the middle of the night!" Zayn says, incredulously, like he does, every time, and Niall shakes his head in bewilderment).

Harry knocks on Louis' door as he opens it (something he doesn't think they've ever done, any of them), and Louis looks up from his phone.

"Hey," he says, a little surprised, abandoning his _"Ears still ringing !! Nashville fans were awesome !!_ " tweet. "Not pulling tonight?" he teases, with a small smile, as Harry pulls off his shirt.

Harry smiles back a little. "Nah," he says, joining Louis on the bed. "Didn't feel like it."

Louis gapes at him, and touches the back of his hand to Harry's forehead. "Are you _ill_?" he demands, and Harry's cheeks dimple, in a _stupidly_ cute way, but he doesn't answer, stretching out beside Louis, scratching his stomach absently, and this is _ridiculous_. There is a half-naked Harry lying in his bed, all red lips and long fingers and tiny, fond smiles just for Louis and he _can't_ -

"What do you do with them, anyway?" Louis asks, aimlessly scrolling through the contacts on his phone, and Harry laughs, pretty hard.

" _What_?" he says.

"What do you do. With the guys you bring back to your room?" Louis asks, looking up. He wants to know. He doesn't want to know. He doesn't know anything when it comes to Harry, anymore.

"What do you think? Use your imagination," Harry says, still smiling, smiling like it's a joke Louis' going to let him in on any second now-

"Show me," Louis says, seriously, instead, and Harry's smile slowly fades.

"Louis," he says, slowly - sadly? Louis' not sure, can't hear much over the blood rushing in his ears. "Turn off the light," Harry finally says, and Louis does, dropping his phone on the bedside table, and Harry shifts around, gentle hands spreading Louis' legs, and there's a prickling in the base of Louis' spine.

Harry's fingertips dance down the inside of Louis' thigh. "I sometimes suck them," he says, thoughtfully, and Louis swears under his breath when Harry's mouth nudges him, through the thin cotton of his pyjama pants. He trails his lips up and down the length of Louis' dick, light, constant pressure, and Louis wants to rub up against his face so _badly_. "If they're nice to me," Harry adds, "and sometimes if they're not," he allows, almost absently, like this is a perfectly mundane conversation in the life of Harry Styles.

"Right," Louis says, faintly.

Harry mouths at Louis' dick again, damp and warm, and Louis gives up and thrusts up against him, shallowly, until Harry pulls away and moves up, and Louis frowns at him, in the dark.

He urges Louis back up the bed a bit. "Then," he says, swinging a leg over Louis' waist, hovering, just hovering. "Then I usually let them fuck me." With that, he sits back, and Louis pushes up into him, immediately. He rubs his arse over Louis' dick, back and forth, back and forth. "Sometimes like this..."

"Fuck," Louis breathes, rocking into Harry, and it's good, so _good_ , but there's not enough pressure, not enough friction, and he's pretty sure Harry knows exactly what he's doing.

Harry leans forward and braces his hands either side of Louis' head, and Louis' breath hitches, at the change in angle, at Harry's closeness, at - _all_ of it. "... sometimes on my hands and knees," he finishes, and Louis grabs at his waist, then, pulling him against him, and Harry brushes a kiss over Louis' cheekbone, before lifting up again.

"No," Louis protests, quietly, before he can stop himself, and Harry kisses the tip of his nose as he settles beside Louis again.

"Or, sometimes, just a handie," Harry continues, almost monotonously, as his fingertips trail down Louis' chest, waiting for Louis to stop him (but he won't, fuck). He toys with the drawstring of Louis' pants, and Louis tries to push into his hand.

"Haz," he says, and Harry wraps a hand around Louis' cock, and Louis stops talking. He strokes him once, twice, experimentally, and Louis whines a little when Harry removes his hand completely. Harry smiles at him, and Louis smiles back, until Harry lifts his palm to his mouth and licks it, and Louis' _done_. He wraps his hand around Louis again, surer, wetter, and strokes him until Louis' shaking against him.

"Close?" Harry asks, and Louis nods, jerkily. "Sometimes, I let them come on my face," Harry says, mildly, like he's just remembered, twisting his wrist just _right_ , and Louis comes all over his stomach.

"Christ," he mutters, trying to catch his breath, as Harry relaxes his grip, rubbing him through the aftershocks.

"Did that answer your question?" Harry asks, all mock-innocent and shit, but that isn't going to _fly_ anymore. Harry isn't a baby-faced, barely legal kid with a crush, now; he's a (surprisingly) worldly nineteen-year-old who likes _filthy_ stuff in bed and Louis is _so far_ beyond fucked.

 

*    *    *

 

They have breakfast in the hotel restaurant before boarding the bus, in the morning, and everything's pretty normal

(except Harry worries the end of his sausage a bit,  and Louis glares at him, like, come on, and Liam glances between them, but doesn't say anything, and screw this, he's sitting with Zayn in the car over and staying far, far away from Harry Styles).

 

*    *    *

 

But that doesn't last, and he's completely lost the plot, he realizes, during the show that night; he stares, unabashedly, at Harry when he drinks his water (it's just _water_ ), and pulls him away from Niall when they bow their heads in conversation, and Niall looks confused, but Harry looks like he's going to laugh, looks like he knows exactly what's going on and Louis' going to kill him, he is.

Harry wraps an arm around Louis' waist while Liam's talking, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt where it rides up at his side, and Louis' not going to react. Not when Harry presses his mic to Louis' cheek while Niall reads out the first Twitter question, and not when Harry squeezes Louis' hips as he passes behind him, and definitely not when Harry falls to his knees in _Teenage Dirtbag_

(but when Harry backs him up during _Rock Me_ , and he can count on one hand the number of times they've done this, he glances over at Harry, startled, but holds his gaze, and Harry's staring back at him, all serious, and when the others join in for the chorus, he leans over, mic stand in hand, and bumps Harry with his shoulder, just because).

 

*    *    *

And did he say the tour bus was good? It's rubbish. Awful. He wants his hotel room back. He wants thicker walls and a bit of _privacy_ , please, and yeah, OK, he just want to have a bit of a wank, is that a _crime_?

(So, and he's not proud of it: he does. He's quiet about it, even though Niall's got the bunk above him and could sleep through anything, and the other lads turn a deaf ear to it, because they've all been there, right? But Harry texts him before his hand's even out of his pants.

_**Feel better?** _

"I hate you," Louis whispers, into the bus, and he's pretty sure he can hear Harry laughing).

 

*    *    *

 

It's on. It's so on. Two can play at this game.

 

*    *    *

So Harry makes his tea for him, in the morning, and Louis grins at him. "Ta, babe," he says, taking it, and Harry nods, but his eyes are all thoughtful.

And later, when Zayn draws the batman symbol on Liam with black pen, just to see it he likes it, Louis nudges Harry's arm up a little and traces the _Hi_ softly. "Still my favourite," he says, quietly, stroking Harry's arm with his thumb as he drops his hand, and Harry's smiling, very slightly.

(When he leans over to whisper to Harry just after _Moments_ , pretending to balance himself with a hand on his shoulder, his nose nudging Harry's cheek, Harry gives him a sidelong look that makes him think that the jig is _definitely_ up).

 

*    *    *

 

He goes to Harry's room, tonight, and Harry's smiling, a little unsure, maybe, until Louis reaches up and cups the back of his neck and pulls him into a hard kiss, and then he's laughing, laughing into Louis' mouth as he shuts the door behind them.

"Hi," Harry says, breathlessly, between kisses.

"Hi," Louis repeats, as Harry touches his stomach, his sides, his back. He kisses Harry again, and Harry opens his mouth to him, instantly, and Louis presses into him.

Harry ducks his head and bites lightly at Louis' neck. "What - what do you want?" he asks, and he's always been a little braver than Louis, but if he can do this, so can Louis, so he closes his eyes for a moment.

"Can you - your mouth," Louis admits. "I want-" and, Christ, Harry actually _lights up_ , like it's something he's wanted, too, and Louis has to close his eyes again, as Harry shucks his boxers and pulls Louis' pyjama pants down. He steps out of them, and Harry reaches out and strokes him a couple of times, before dropping to his knees and _shit shit shit_ this isn't going to take long.

Harry looks up at him as he lowers his mouth, trailing his lips along the length of Louis' dick, just like and _nothing_ like the other night, and when he opens his mouth and swallows as much of Louis as he can, it's warm and wet and _too much_. He bobs his head a few times, experimentally, then gives Louis' hip an encouraging squeeze.

"It's OK," he mumbles, pulling back a little, a fine line of spit still connecting him to Louis' cock, "You can - move," he squeezes Louis' hip again and opens his mouth, relaxes his throat, taking a steadying breath through his nose, and Louis - he can't help it, he thrusts into Harry's mouth, gentle, shallow, and Harry's tongue's doing something every time he pulls back and he's _fucking Harry's mouth-_

He pushes Harry off with a hand to his shoulder. "Not gonna last," he says, honestly, trying to catch his breath.

Harry frowns a little, playfully, almost. "Next time," he says, almost _mutinously_ , "Until you come."

"OK," Louis says, rather idiotically, staring at him for a moment before pulling him to his feet again. He kisses him, over and over, bites Harry's lip not that gently, and Harry makes a needy noise and pushes against him. "Bed?" Louis suggests, and Harry's tugging him over to it before he can blink.

Harry lies back, pulling Louis on top of him, spreading his legs a little to fit around Louis, who rubs against him, warm and tingly and Harry arches his neck.

" _Louis_ ," he draws out.

"Where's your lube?" Louis asks, and he feels like he can't catch his breath, like it's all happening too quickly, but they can go slow _next_ time, or something, because he needs to be inside Harry.

"Top drawer."

So Louis slicks up his fingers, and Harry draws up his legs, and when Louis adds a second finger and twists a little, Harry's feet flex up, all tense and Louis grins.

"You good?" he checks, reaching for a condom.

Harry's smile is fond and happy and genuine. "Yeah," he says.

"Do you do it like this with them?" Louis asks, spreading Harry's legs wider, lifting them higher around his waist, "Face to face?" and Harry shakes his head.

"Just you," he teases, breath hitching, as Louis pushes in, and Louis _knows_ he's mostly kidding, but something in his chest clenches when Harry repeats, softer, "Just you."

And he's not made of _steel_ , man, so he pulls back and rocks back into Harry, finding his rhythm, until he hits the right spot inside Harry again, and Harry arches his neck again, and Louis slows and drops his head and sucks a mark into the side of Harry's neck, too high to be hidden with a collar, and Harry shudders beneath him.

"Can you," Louis grits out, "Touch yourself?" as he picks up the speed of his thrusts, and Harry works a hand between them, watching Louis. He strokes himself in time to their rocking and he comes quickly, eyes closing for a moment, as Louis slows again and pulls out. "Turn over?" Louis asks, and Harry smiles his small, secret, Louis-smile and pushes up onto wobbly arms and knees.

Louis pushes back into him, and with the change of angle, he's dragging against Harry's prostate with every thrust, and Harry grunts, softly, every time, and he wants it to _last_ , but Harry's too tight and noisy and perfect and he's coming with a jerk of his hips.

He drapes himself over Harry's back for a moment, kissing the back of his neck, before pulling out carefully. He flops down on the bed, and Harry rolls over onto his back. He can feel Harry looking at him, so he turns his head and meets his gaze.

"Hi," Harry says, and he loves this gangly, dorky boy _so much_ , and Louis can't help his smile.

"Hi," he echoes, and Harry cranes his neck to kiss him, softly, nothing but lazy, smiling lips moving against each other, and he knows that this gangly, dorky boy loves him, too.

 

*    *    *

 

They're back on the road again, in the morning (Philly and Boston next, then a couple of days in Wantagh), and they're on the bus couch, Harry's head on his lap, both on their phones, but he's running a hand through Harry's hair every now and then.

"I was thinking," Harry says, half sitting up and twisting around to look at Louis. "In New York. Maybe we don't need two hotel rooms." It's faux-casual and nonchalant and in some ways, this is still very much the sixteen-year-old Harry - whose heart Louis at least dented a little - still wary of rejection.

Louis nods slowly, then shrugs. "It's the only thing that makes fiscal sense," he says, deadpan, before grinning, and Harry grins back at him.

"That's what I thought," Harry agrees, as Louis leans in to kiss him.

"Plus," Louis mumbles, against his mouth, "It's easier to shag if we're in the same room."

"That _is_ true," Harry says, solemnly, kissing him again, hand warm on his cheek.

(And, Louis decides, if this is their thing, now, making out and shagging and being disgustingly in love, then it definitely, definitely works for him

(judging by Harry's grin, it works for him, too)).


End file.
